


ethereal moon

by breadofthewild



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Related, F/M, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Garreg Mach Monastery (Fire Emblem), M/M, Mentioned Black Eagles Students (Fire Emblem), Mentioned Blue Lions Students (Fire Emblem), Mentioned Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Mentioned Golden Deer Students (Fire Emblem), Mentioned Mercedes von Martritz, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Romantic Fluff, School Dances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 08:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22092940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breadofthewild/pseuds/breadofthewild
Summary: The students are preparing for the ball.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic & Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert & Dedue Molinaro, Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro, Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring, Edelgard von Hresvelg & Hubert von Vestra, Edelgard von Hresvelg/Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir & Dorothea Arnault, Ferdinand von Aegir/Dorothea Arnault, Hilda Valentine Goneril & Claude von Riegan, Hilda Valentine Goneril/Claude von Riegan, Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Marianne von Edmund & Ignatz Victor, Marianne von Edmund/Ignatz Victor
Comments: 5
Kudos: 48





	ethereal moon

Hilda is stressing about what to wear to the ball in the middle of the professor’s lecture.

She’s thinking about the outfits she had brought from home that are resting in her quarter’s closet right now—running through different accessory combinations through her head almost desperately. Nothing she pictured seemed right.

When the professor calls on Hilda to answer a question about battle tactics, Hilda raises her chin that’s been resting on her hand, her elbow digging into the wooden table. Byleth eyes her.

“Huh? Sorry, Professor. Truth be told, I wasn’t really listening.”

This catches the attention of none other than Claude, and, though not particularly out of character, he nudges Hilda anyway with his own elbow out of concern.

“Something on your mind?” Claude whispers. The professor’s moved on to a lecture on strategic battle locations. Claude normally wasn’t one to disrespect their dear Teach during class time, but he would be lying if he didn’t admit that Hilda’s seemingly blunt honesty today didn’t pique his interest.

Hilda’s already back to pondering her outfit choices, but Claude’s voice in her ear catches her attention. “Hm? Oh, it’s nothing. I was just trying to figure out what I’m going to do for the ball.” She shrugs like it’s almost no big deal.

“The ball? That isn’t for another few weeks,” Claude replies, and the professor shoots the two of them a glare. Hilda opens her mouth to respond, but her response is cut short by the familiar tune of the monastery bell ringing, signalling the end of classes.

Always saved by the bell, the two of them.

“So? Doesn’t hurt to be prepared, Claude,” Hilda says, stacking her scattered textbooks into one neat pile. She pushes them to the end of the table, their permanent spot for the school year as she’s too lazy to bring them to her own quarters everyday. “I just don’t know what to wear!”

“I think you’ll look great in anything you decide to show up in,” Claude quickly quips, his wit as sharp but charismatic as ever. The pair walk alongside each other as they exit the Golden Deer classroom and make their way towards the dining hall for lunchtime.

Hilda snorts. “What a smooth talker you are, just as always. I appreciate the comment.”

Claude only shrugs nonchalantly, a grin poking at the ends of his mouth. “Thank you very much, Hilda. But anyway, is it really that serious?”

Hilda snorts again, but this time, louder. Almost as if what Claude’s said was too ridiculous to fathom. “Really, Claude? Of  _ course _ it’s that serious! This is the only time of the year where we students get to dress up and be all pretty for a night. There’s no other chance for this kinda stuff!”

“Hm.” Claude brings a finger to his chin. “I guess it  _ is  _ kinda special, considering Seteth wouldn’t normally allow this sorta thing.”

“Exactly,” Hilda says, her pink lips curling up into a smile. “See, you get it.”

“Well,” Claude continues, seizing his chance to initiate a new conversation topic, “have you found someone to go to the ball with, then? That’s a thing they do here...right?”

The duo enter the dining hall, bustling full of students and staff alike. Hilda jumps to the back of the line, Claude right behind her. She peeks back, her gaze upwards in the most cutesy fashion she can muster.

“Well, that’s where the problem starts...I haven’t found anyone yet.” She reverts back to facing the front after meeting Claude’s curious gaze, and shrugs with her small shoulders.

Claude thinks of something to say, but for the first time in a long time, he’s tongue-tied for some reason.

They gather their lunches in silence. The lunch ladies serve them bowls of Daphnel stew on flimsy trays, and Hilda stalks off to a nearby table. Claude follows her.

“You know,” Hilda says, breaking the silence between them. She’s still standing even though she’s found a spot at a table, and Claude is raising his eyebrows as he seats himself across from her. “You’ve just given me a great idea.”

“Great idea, huh? I’m not sure if I like the sound of that,” Claude jokes, and Hilda crosses her arms over her chest and glares. She finally sits down.

“Have  _ you _ gotten any ladies asking you to go to the ball with them?” Hilda inquires innocently. She stirs her stew absentmindedly. “Nobody would pass up an opportunity with  _ the _ grandson of Duke Riegan, would they?”

Claude swallows the spoonful of soup carefully, pointing his spoon towards Hilda. “Actually, nobody has asked me. Maybe it’s my overflowing amount of charm that’s scared all the ladies off.”

Hilda can’t help but giggle. But still, this is perfect for her.

“Maybe you’re not as charming as you think you are, then? Has that ever crossed your mind?”

“You wound me, Hilda,” Claude replies, feigning hurt. “I’ll be sure to let my grandfather—who, by the way, is the person I get all my charisma from—know about this.”

“Holst would never let anybody lay a finger on me, not even the Duke,” Hilda retorts, though she knows Claude’s just kidding.

A devilish grin spreads across Hilda’s face, unbeknownst to Claude stuffing his face with stew. She stands back up then abruptly, dropping her spoon into her full bowl. Some droplets splash onto the tabletop, and it catches Claude’s attention. He gazes up at her in curiosity.

“Claude von Riegan, go to the dance with me!” Hilda announces, her finger pointed at the leader of the Golden Deer as if he’s been specifically chosen. And in Hilda’s mind, technically, he has. There’s no better person to attend such an event with.

The announcement has attracted some attention, and some students whisper to each other as they glance at what the grandson of Duke Riegan will say next. It’s almost as if the entire dining hall has gone quiet, but Claude knows that only their small corner has noticed what’s going on with his personal ball-related and pink-haired-girled affairs.

_ Classic Hilda in classic Hilda fashion _ , Claude can’t help but think. He grins.  _ But well played. _

Claude first rolls his eyes at his Hilda, but smiles in acknowledgement at her play. He stands slowly to match her height, and for every second that passes by, Hilda never falters with her brave and bold expression. In an effortless manner, Claude returns the extravagant gesture by bowing, one arm behind his back and the other before his chest. After coming back up to meet Hilda’s gaze, he flashes a toothy grin.

“Why, I accept, Miss Hilda Valentine Goneril. There’s no one I’d rather spend the ball with.”

Linhardt is taking his midday nap in his quarters rather than attending class, and that’s exactly where Caspar knew he’d be. 

The monastery bell rings, and Caspar bolts out of the Black Eagles classroom and up the familiar steps to the second floor dorms. Reaching Linhardt’s door, panting, he knocks three times in quick succession. He then busts the door open impatiently upon remembering Linhardt never locked his door, surprisingly.

It was more like Linhardt never remembered to lock it, but nevertheless, Caspar made it to and inside Linhardt’s room with little effort.

“Linhardt! Wake up!” Caspar yells, the hollering causing the green-haired sleeping beauty to stir in his sleep. He groans under his messily managed covers.

Caspar grabs the edge of Linhardt’s blankets, yanking them off the bed. “Come on!” 

Linhardt’s already dozed off, still fully clothed in his uniform, and even sporting his shoes. Caspar sighs.

It’s too early, and too loud, wherever and at whatever time it was at the moment. It didn’t matter. It was never pleasant being screamed at to wake up in the middle of a good nap. Linhardt tries his hardest to ignore Caspar’s voice.

“Lin _ hardt _ ! I told you to wake up!” Caspar leaps on the bed, crushing his friend under his small stature, and the sleepy-eyed greenhead finally jolts awake. He rubs his eyes tiredly, his hair all tangled in a mess, and he greets his energetic best friend with a yawn.

“What do you want?” Linhardt grunts, stretching out his arms above his head as he makes a sluggish effort to sit up. His eyelids are heavy and he’s still on the verge of falling back asleep, so Caspar grabs his friend by the shoulders and violently shakes him.

“Linhardt, this is important. I just remembered that the ball is tomorrow and I still haven’t found someone to go with!”

Linhardt, shoulders gripped tightly in Caspar’s hands, furrows his eyebrows in mere confusion.  _ That _ was what Caspar disrupted his sleep for? How many priceless seconds of sleep has he missed out on just for this one boy to barge in ranting about some ball?

“The...the ball, huh? That’s crazy,” Linhardt slurs, rubbing his eyes again. His head stoops, and Caspar palms Linhardt’s forehead in an effort to keep him up.

“At least act like you care. I need your help ASAP.” Caspar keeps one hand on his friend’s forehead, the other still holding him upright. He shakes him slightly.

“Just don’t go,” Linhardt lazily responds. “Problem solved.”

“No  _ way _ am I missing out on the fun! I need someone to go with or I’ll be a laughing stock. Hell, I’ll never hear the end of it from Dorothea. Come on, Linhardt, you’ll help me, won’t you?”

It was a desperate plea at this point, so there was no point in tuning out Caspar’s cries for help. Linhardt opens his eyes slowly, fixating his gaze on his best friend.

“What do you want me to do exactly? Based on this information, there’s not even anything I can do to help you, Caspar.”

“Oh, come on! You’ve always been the smart one. I’m counting on you to support me here. Got any bright ideas?” Caspar withdraws his hands, balling his fists and placing them on his legs stiffly. “All of our classmates have already got dates. Even Bernadetta!  _ Bernadetta! _ I’ll seriously be toast if I don’t find someone and  _ Bernadetta _ does!”

Linhardt continues to stare ahead at his distressed friend. He sighs, leaning over to pick up the blanket Caspar’s tossed on the floor earlier.

“Well, you just answered your own question. If everybody’s already occupied, go with someone who isn’t.”

“I  _ can’t _ is the point because there  _ isn’t _ anybody left!” Caspar sighs angrily, bringing his fists to his hair. “Man, Linhardt, for someone as bright as you, you sure don’t—”

Caspar pauses. Something goes off in his brain. Linhardt can practically see the bulb go off atop his head.

“Unless…” A smirk forms on Caspar’s face as he excitedly looks at Linhardt. “ _ You _ go with me. You’re someone, yeah?”

“I suppose,” Linhardt halfheartedly replies. He yawns. “Goodnight.”

“Aw yeah, it’s settled then! Thanks for saving me, Linhardt. I owe you!”

And with that, Caspar dashes out of Linhardt’s quarters just as quickly as he burst through the door minutes prior.

Dorothea is tending a few flowers since it’s her turn for garden duty, and she doesn’t notice the slow creak of the door opening from behind her. She’s humming a tune she frequently sang when she was in the opera, and for a moment, she misses those days.

Ferdinand clears his throat when he’s a few feet away from Dorothea. She turns around, startled, but a smile finds her face when she realizes it’s just Ferdie.

“Ah, it’s just you. You scared me.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. It’s your turn to tend the flowers today?”

It’s only idle small talk, because in reality, Ferdinand is fidgeting with his fingers behind his back nervously to distract himself from what he really came for.

“Yes, it is. What brings you here anyhow, Ferdie?”

She’s back to watering the flowers with the small watering can, humming quieter than she was before. There’s something delicate and fragile in the way she handles most things that Ferdinand notices, because he notices almost everything. She stands with the poise of a diva, surely, but something else strikes her as somewhat ingenuine. Like she was waiting for someone to notice to call her out on it.

“I just wanted to come and propose a question, that’s all. If you wouldn’t mind.” Ferdinand was always able to get out the right words for himself. His ability to talk to people had definitely saved him countless times, this time included, since Dorothea didn’t notice a hint of nervousness behind his vague words.

“Hm, okay. And what might that be?”

There’s a slight pause, one that both of them take note of. Ferdinand because he curses himself out for hesitating for just a second, and Dorothea because it was unlike Ferdie to let a silent moment go by when he was around. She tips the watering can all the way to deplete the rest of its contents, then sets it down by her feet. She fully turns to face her classmate then, her eyebrow quirked.

“I wanted to know if you would like to go to the ball with me,” Ferdinand quickly explains, his words fast. He almost adds in the fact that of course she didn’t have to if she didn’t want to, but he seals his mouth to repress the afterthought from escaping. He always made sure to exclude afterthoughts such as those to maintain a noble demeanor to everyone around him. It made him sound sure of everything he was doing, not reluctant.

“The ball, huh? That isn’t for another few weeks, isn’t it?”

Ferdinand nods, bringing his hands together in front of him. He averts his eyes to the set of flowers Dorothea had just watered, but quickly forces himself to meet her eyes again.

“Ah, yes. Could never be too prepared, right? And you know...in case you decide to turn me down. Then I would have time to find another date.” The words are all smooth, like everything that Ferdinand says, but the mix of thoughts and words in his head are all jumbled. In truth, he didn’t have any idea for another date he would want to go with. He takes a breath.

“Interesting. Wouldn’t something like that be a bit improper for you, Ferdie? Showing up to a dance with a commoner around your arm?” Dorothea teases, her tongue sharp. Ferdinand winces at the sound of her words, the venom she shoots each time she addressed something about nobles. He’s heard that tone many times, and although he’s noticed that her coldness has warmed up a lot more lately, he couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt.

“Something like that doesn’t matter to me, Dorothea,” Ferdinand responds, his words sure just like any other noble’s would. Dorothea tilts her head and thinks.

But finally, she smiles.

“You know, you do seem different from the rest of them, Ferdie. You used to be so arrogant and loud, but it doesn’t seem that way anymore. A change of heart, I presume?” The poison in Dorothea’s words drip with enthusiasm, coying with Ferdinand in exactly the way she wanted.

“No, no change of heart. I believe you’re right though, in all honesty,” Ferdinand starts, his eyebrows furrowing in reflection. “Ever since we’ve grown closer, I feel as if I’m starting to understand other people’s perspectives. I know it is my duty to be noble in all cases...but I can’t help but also believe it is okay for me to be a person, too.”

Dorothea suddenly slings her arms around Ferdinand’s shoulders, beaming, almost as if she’s accomplished something. She gazes into his eyes, and the gesture clearly makes him flustered. His cheeks flush a light pink at the proximity, and his eyes wander beyond her rather than at her.

“Look at you, Ferdie! I appreciate the self-reflection. You’ve really grown as a person, I think. I like that.” Dorothea steps away then and brings her hands behind her back, swaying ever so slightly. She crosses him and goes on to leave the greenhouse, nothing but her chestnut hair trailing behind her. Ferdinand stands still.

“I am assuming I should give you time to think about it?” Ferdinand suggests, his eyes downcast. He can’t help but feel as if he hasn’t gotten what he had hoped for after all.

Dorothea stops in her tracks, standing in the doorway of the greenhouse. She stands there for a few moments, then turns to give Ferdinand one of those smiles as bright as the sun. She winks.

“I’ve already thought about it. Sure I’ll go with you, Ferdinand. I’d be happy to.”

And with that, she’s gone.

Ingrid and Sylvain are training at the usual location, but only because Ingrid forced Sylvain to. She gave him another one of his lectures about slacking off, and after much reprimanding, he finally agreed to train with her this  _ one _ time. So there they are.

The clash of lance against lance echoes throughout the training grounds, serving as a sort of reminder of the chivalrous Blue Lion students. They’re both concentrating their fair amount, and after a few minutes, Sylvain withdraws.

“Tired already?” Ingrid asks, wiping her forehead. The sweat isn’t too grand of a look on her, but Sylvain doesn’t—and never does—mind it anyhow. He’s grown used to seeing her in that state, having been by her side practically all her life.

“Yeah. Tired of training,” Sylvain responds, placing his lance against the far wall and sitting down beside it. Ingrid follows suit, their backs against the wall as they rest to regain their energy.

“Funny,” Ingrid says, but she sounds almost too tired to lecture him any more.

A few girls trail into the training grounds, their conversation loud enough for anyone in the room to hear. Naturally, Sylvain’s eyes follow, and Ingrid can only roll her eyes. She hardly even recognizes any of them, but surely Sylvain does. She doesn’t say anything about it.

“Oh, do you know who you’re going with? I hear that—”

“No, no, you should go with someone else! Besides—”

“The ball is a huge deal! I think you should ask—”

Ingrid sighs. “The ball, huh?”

Sylvain turns his attention towards his friend, raising a curious eyebrow. “So it seems. Have you decided on who the lucky boy is?”

“What are you going on about?”

Sylvain’s eyes pop out of his skull, an incredulous look on his face. He turns his body to face Ingrid completely, and with that look on his face, Ingrid can’t help but grimace.

“What?”

“Come on, you know what I mean. For the ball. Who are you going with?” Sylvain prods, as if he’s explaining to her how to count to five.

“Oh, that? I haven’t thought about it. We don’t have to go with someone, do we?”

Sylvain crosses his arms, shaking his head in dismay. “Oh, Ingrid. You can’t possibly show up to the ball without a  _ partner _ . It’s the best thing about it, really. Surely you’ve got someone in mind. Felix? Dimitri?”

Ingrid crosses her arms in return and shoots her friend a glare. “Will you cut it out? What if I don’t want to go with anyone?”

“Come  _ on _ , Ingrid. Seriously, this is a once in a lifetime thing, okay? You’ve got to take it seriously!”

Ingrid sighs once more, standing up from her spot. Sylvain looks up at her with curiosity.

“I think I’ll pass. But I must say, I’m quite interested in who  _ you’re _ taking. Surely there are a bunch of girls in mind, am I right?” Ingrid inquires, a hint of sarcasm in her tone.

Sylvain stands, brushing off his uniform. “Actually, not really. I’ve turned down all of the girls who’ve asked me.”

Ingrid narrows her eyebrows in suspicion. “Why’s that?”

The orange-haired male shrugs, casting that nonchalantly charming smile over his shoulder. “Who knows? None of them like me for me anyway. I’d much rather go with, say, an old friend.”

Ingrid picks up her lance and strides over to the polishing station. Sylvain follows.

“Ask Felix then. I’m sure he’ll go crazy over that kind of thing.” Definitely sarcasm this time.

Sylvain snorts, grabbing a cleaning cloth. “Yeah, sure. He’ll definitely accept my request.”

The pair are silent as they polish their weapons, but a question nags at Sylvain’s mind. He tries to usher it away, but it keeps coming back no matter how hard he tries. He can’t help but steal a few glances at Ingrid while she’s focusing on as mundane a task as cleaning a weapon, but he finds that he enjoys watching her. He doesn’t seem to register in his head why he enjoys it so much so, but when Ingrid shoots him a side glare, he quickly averts his gaze embarrassingly.

“What’s on your mind?” Ingrid asks out of curiosity, her eyes never trailing from her weapon. Sylvain gulps just a little.

“Uh, nothing. Just thinking about who I should ask to the ball, you know? Now that you’ve reminded me of it,” Sylvain answers, failing miserably at hiding his true thoughts. Ingrid flashes him an unimpressed expression.

“Okay, cool. Now tell me what you were  _ really _ thinking about,” Ingrid responds. Sylvain sighs, scratching the back of his neck. He should’ve known better than to lie to Ingrid, after all.

“Fine. I just wanted to...well, ask you something.”

“What is it?”

She was so oblivious it was funny, Sylvain thought. Ingrid could never catch the hint, even if Sylvain outright asked her what he wanted to ask in the first place. He took a deep breath and quietly exhaled.

“Look, I don’t want you to think I’m hitting on you or anything. But...will you go to the dance with me?” The words are much quieter this time, surprising Ingrid as Sylvain continues to polish his weapon. The question causes Ingrid to stop polishing hers and to finally look up to meet Sylvain’s eyes.

“Is this a joke?” Ingrid inquires, no hint of joking herself anywhere in her face. Sylvain gives a nervous grin, one he usually sported when he knew Ingrid was about to beat him for doing something dumb. He shakes his head fervently.

“Not a joke, Ingrid. I swear. It’s just...well, neither of us have a date, right? It’d only be natural for it to work out this way,” Sylvain explains, the words in his head getting slightly mixed up. Ingrid could tell when Sylvain was trying to be sincere, as hard as it was for him, because he always seemed flustered whenever he tried. And she realizes that this was one of those times. She lets the question sink into her mind to process.

“There must be some ulterior motive to this, right? Why don’t you just ask any other girl?”

Sylvain’s normal personality is almost back as he whines. “Come on, Ingrid, I’m not  _ that _ much of a skirt-chaser.” His voice gets quiet again as he attempts to be genuine one more time. “Besides, I...I just wanted to spend more time with you, I guess.”

“You always spend time with me.”

“Well, yeah, but lately I feel like we’ve gotten less time for each other for some reason. I don’t know...so I take it that you’re gonna decline?”

Ingrid doesn’t exactly give off the impression that she’s fine with the idea. The ball wasn’t an appealing event to her in the first place, and she dreaded thinking about the fact that Annette would definitely take this as an opportunity to slather her face with makeup and Mercedes to dress her up in some fancy clothes. She did plan to go, but didn’t think of it as a special night in any regard whatsoever. And the thought of a date hadn’t crossed her mind either until now.

But the thought of going with Sylvain, one of her best friends, oddly set her mind at ease a little. Even though every other word out of his mouth often earned a smack from her, she did enjoy spending time with him, even if it was just to watch over him like she always did. There was also the fact that she wouldn’t have to clean up any of his messes if she decided to go with him instead of letting him go with a random girl, so Ingrid considered her choices carefully before responding.

“I never said that,” Ingrid simply states, hanging the lance up against the wall. “I’ll go. But I still don’t see why it has to be me.”

“Oh, you will? Really? Aw, sweet!” Sylvain pumps his fists in the air as if he’s just accomplished a huge feat, and Ingrid sighs for the third time today, but doesn’t say anything.

They both turn to leave the training grounds. They’re standing in the doorway when Sylvain finally turns to Ingrid one last time to let out something fully sincere.

“Hey, Ingrid, sorry if it was weird to ask...but thanks. For going with me. Just believe me when I say it means a lot that it’s you.” Sylvain’s eyes don’t meet Ingrid’s, but they don’t have to in order for Ingrid to understand. She pinches his ear like she used to when they were kids and gives him a slight nudge on the arm, smiling. Sylvain winces in pain, and just like that, they’re back to normal like they always were.

Annette is in the library organizing the books when she trips over a stray book on the floor and lands on her face. She mutters some curses under her breath to herself and rubs her cheek, but quickly stands back up to brush off her uniform.

“That was quite a fall,” a voice says from nearby. “Are you hurt?”

Annette swirls around in her tracks to be greeted by her classmate Felix, an odd boy who’s found it in himself to routinely scare Annette these days by sneaking up on her. “Ugh, Felix! Were you watching me this whole time?! Stop spying on me!”

“I’m not spying on you,” Felix calmly replies as he crosses his arms and leans against the bookshelves. “I just so happened to be here.”

“Whatever,” Annette mumbles, picking up the book that had caused her downfall. She brushes it off a few times before recognizing the title. A popular tale of chivalry that Ashe or Ingrid would surely know about.

She scales the ladder carefully to return the book to its original spot, the top of the shelves. Felix casts a sideways glance towards her, more so to make sure she doesn’t fall again, and when she gets back to the ground safely, he returns his gaze to the floor.

“Why are you still here?” Annette asks, walking over to the table full of books left to be organized. “It’s my turn to sort the books. But it’s not like you’re helping me or anything anyway, are you?”

Felix snorts, then shrugs. “After seeing you take a fall like that, maybe I  _ had _ better keep an eye on you doing simple chores like this.”

Annette crosses her arms and pouts her lips, sending a glare towards Felix. “Hey! I’m fine, okay? Don’t baby me like I’m some worthless cause!”

Felix shrugs again. Then he walks over beside Annette to take a look at the rest of the books she had to organize.

There were at least fifty more of them. All stacked on the tables messily, left behind by students who couldn’t be bothered to return them to their rightful places. Felix shakes his head in dismay and takes a book in his hand, heading towards a shelf across the library.

“So now you decide to help? After you witness my downfall and make fun of me for it? I see how it is,” Annette mumbles, but Felix still manages to hear. He just ignores it.

They organize in silence. They work well together as a team, with Annette sorting the books on the table and Felix directing them to their respective shelves. It made sense so that Annette wouldn’t fall on her face anymore, and Felix wouldn’t have to make fun of her for it. They don’t say much to each other while they’re working, other than the occasional comments about the books they’re going through, but other than that nothing comes to mind to converse about for either of them.

Felix knows his time runs out when the books are gone. So he tries to take his time without Annette noticing.

Ironically, Annette notices some minor things about Felix’s gestures and movements as he moves around with the books. He seems to be tenser than he usually is, his body stiff and awkward when he steps near her. And although the scowl on his face isn’t anything out of the ordinary, she still can’t help but think that he’s hiding something in that mind of his. But she doesn’t notice that he’s moving more slowly than he usually would. She just notices the other things.

Felix is on the other side of the library when he calls for Annette. She raises her eyebrow in curiosity, walking over to meet up with him on the opposite end he was on.

“What’s wrong?” Annette asks, glancing upwards as Felix tucks a book away in between the others. He’s standing atop the ladder, the very one Annette was on half an hour earlier. He’s tall and far, and he doesn’t move. He stares at the shelves in front of him rather than peering down at Annette.

“Felix?”

The name on her lips is small and tiny, just like she is. Her face is contorted with concern now, inching closer to the bottom of the ladder as she stands on her tiptoes. She tugs on Felix’s pant sleeve.

“Go to the ball with me.”

Annette blinks. “Huh?”

“The ball,” Felix simply repeats, clearly irritated. He doesn’t make an effort to climb back down, and Annette crosses her arms in suspicion. She stares up at him, but he never meets her eyes.

“Come down here and we’ll talk,” Annette answers, that chirp in her voice that Felix always gave in to. He sighs, but steps down a notch and finally reaches the floor. He’s standing before Annette now, but he’s still not looking at her.

“So,” Annette starts, shifting her head to force Felix to look her in the eye. He only jerks his gaze away. “What is this, all of a sudden? Are you okay? Got hit in the head or something?”

Felix lets out an aggravated sigh, folding his arms across his chest. “Shut up. Just answer me.”

“This is crazy.  _ You _ , Felix,  _ you  _ of all people! I thought you’ve sworn to never go to these types of things or something. Did Sylvain dare you? Or Mercie? Mercie’s always scheming despite what you may think about her, she’s actually been—”

“ _ No _ ,” Felix yells, his voice louder than what was acceptable in the library. Several voices from downstairs scold them with shushes, and Annette whispers a small apology to them down below.

They’re quiet again. Annette is suddenly apprehensive, like maybe Felix had an ulterior motive. After all, it was completely out of the ordinary for him to ask her such a thing. She might as well could’ve told Mercedes that pigs had started to fly. Annette takes a deep breath, clenching her fists. Felix prepares himself for her to decline his request.

“You didn’t even ask me,” Annette says quietly, a small smile on her face. “So I guess I have to go, right?”

Felix blinks once. Then twice. And then shakes his head profusely, waving his hands in disagreement. He hadn’t wanted to make her feel like she  _ had _ to. He curses at himself in his head several times before finally finding the words to explain himself. Sylvain would’ve been able to pull this off way better than him.

“That’s not what I meant,” is all Felix can manage. “You...don’t have to.”

Annette flashes Felix a wide smile, her head tilting upwards ever so slightly to meet his eyes. He’s finally looking at her now, and there’s something in his face Annette’s never seen before. Not much, anyway.

“Are you blushing, Felix?” Annette teases, her cheerful demeanor breaking their awkward silence and strained words once and for all. “You’re so cute!”

“I’m not blushing. Shut up,” Felix shoots, turning his head to avoid making eye contact with her again. Annette’s keen on small details like that, but she could also be the biggest airhead. It’s a weird balance Felix finds himself enjoying to be around.

“Hey, but seriously,” Annette says, her eyes turning serious. She sighs. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I like this side of you. It’s oddly adorable. Of course I’ll go to the ball with you.” 

“I am  _ not  _ adorable,” Felix counters, his cheeks flushing a brighter pink than before. Annette only laughs, pinching his cheeks in between her fingers. Normally Felix would swat away anyone who would try to touch him, but Annette’s warm hands make him feel strangely at home.

Hubert is in the classroom when he hears a trail of footsteps approach him. Hunched over a textbook about magic, he quickly turns around to find Edelgard facing him.

“Hubert. Studying again?” She takes the seat beside him.

“Of course, Lady Edelgard. Everyone has gotten carried away with the news of the ball that it only sickens me. I wish we could’ve had more studious classmates.”

Edelgard only shrugs. “I agree. But...I don’t think there is anything particularly wrong with being excited with such festivities, no?”

Hubert laughs, one that sounds like mockery each time he lets it out. “I see. So you’ve been brainwashed into taking part in that sort of thing now?”

Edelgard always knows when Hubert’s joking. He closes the textbook and sets it aside. Edelgard shifts in her seat.

“Say, Hubert, why don’t we attend the ball together? Don’t you think you could do for a little bit of fun?”

“Fun?” Hubert inquires, narrowing his gaze at Edelgard. “What ever made you come to such a conclusion?”

“We’re always...working. I think it’s fairly harmless to indulge once in a while,” Edelgard explains, her eyes averting to the banner of an eagle against the far wall. Hubert follows her gaze, and he remembers all the things he should be doing rather than having this useless conversation. But all he does is sigh.

“You’re saying we should attend the ball? For fun?”

Edelgard nods, her eyes trailing back to Hubert’s. “Yes, I am, actually. Won’t you go with me?”

“There are plenty of other suitable candidates for this type of occasion, Lady Edelgard,” Hubert states, his tone never professing his true feelings on the matter. In truth, the idea excites him ever so slightly. Perhaps because it was new and with Edelgard. But the thought also brings him to question why she would want to spend more time with him when he was already following her in every direction she took.

“I know, Hubert. But I don’t think...well, no one is as close to me as you are. It would make sense, right?” Edelgard knows that after relentless questions he’ll eventually concede, so she gives him her usual leader tone. But she falters just a little when Hubert mentions something next.

“These events are, how may I put it...related to matters of the heart, yes? There’s no point in bringing someone like me around,” Hubert comments, mostly for himself to hear. Hubert had never considered the possibility that Edelgard could fancy him the way he did her, so the statement was natural on his tongue. It was because he fully believed it.

“Ah, who cares about the intricacies of that kind of thing, Hubert? Let me just say this: I’m asking you to the ball as merely a friend, not your superior.”

Hubert thinks. Then he says something else.

“Wouldn’t it suffice for you to go alone? Seeing as how others will perceive us if we show up together…”

“Hubert, for the goddess’ sake,” Edelgard blurts, her voice growing aggravated. “Will you please just come along with me? There’s no harm in it. Besides, I’d argue that people think of us that way anyhow.”

Hubert sighs, processing Edelgard’s words in his head. It’s always been hard for him to accept her requests as a friend rather than just a servant. He never acknowledged himself so much as an equal to her. Hubert stands from his seat and bows before Edelgard, and upon realizing what he was doing, she waves her hands dismissively.

“Fine. I will accept your request, Lady Edelgard.”

“Thank you. And cut out the bowing, please!”

Dedue is in the kitchen on cooking duty, and Ashe finds this as a good chance to pester him about something he surely wouldn’t want to discuss.

“Ah, Dedue! Here you are. What’s for lunch today?”

“Just Daphnel stew. A simple dish.”

Ashe slides under the counter to stand beside Dedue at the stove, keeping his eyes on the food. “That sounds wonderful. By the way, on a completely unrelated note, do you plan to attend the ball at the end of the moon?”

Dedue pauses, his hand on a spoon meant to be stirring the pot. He resumes quickly after the question’s sunk into his mind.

“No, I do not. I don’t see the point in attending.”

Ashe nudges Dedue’s broad shoulder, a feeble attempt at teasing. Their height difference is jarring, Ashe only barely reaching Dedue’s shoulder. “But why not? Don’t you want to go to something fun like that?”

“No,” Dedue simply responds. Ashe pouts.

“Well, I think it’s a great opportunity to bond with each other in a time of celebration. It’s meant to be fun, right? And everyone’s supposed to go!”

“The professor never stated it was a mandatory event.”

Ashe groans, his attempts on trying to change his friend’s opinion on the matter failing. “Well, yes, but...but it’s just the type of thing you can’t miss. And everyone’s got a friend to go with. In truth, nobody’s available for me to attend with…”

Dedue raises an eyebrow, setting the spoon on a nearby napkin. He finds another clean spoon and dips it into the stew gingerly.

“Taste it,” Dedue instructs, his arm outstretched towards Ashe. Ashe’s face flushes a crimson color as he initially denies the request, flustered. Dedue only stays still, so Ashe sighs and takes the spoon in his hands and takes a sip.

“It’s great,” Ashe comments as the Daphnel stew travels down his throat. “It’s always better when you cook it, Dedue.”

“Thank you,” is all Dedue says.

The duo are quiet for a moment. Ashe brings the spoon to the sink to wash, and Dedue turns off the stove and prepares to serve the food. They both work the best when they’re in the kitchen, and oftentimes Ashe would come by when Dedue was on cooking duty to see what dish he had cooked up prior to everyone else getting their lunch. Dedue never minded the company, and as time went on, even grew to enjoy Ashe’s presence.

Ashe watches as Dedue grabs the pot by the handles with his mits and sets it on the opposite counter, the lunch lady filling bowls already. He walks back over to the wall to hang the oven mitts, and then he’s done for the day with cooking duty. Before he goes to leave, he glances at Ashe with a raised eyebrow.

“Aren’t you going to have lunch? It’ll be gone if you don’t wait in line,” Dedue says, exiting the kitchen and making his way outside.

“A-Ah, yes, right. But what about you? Where are you going?”

“I’m going to tend the flowers in the greenhouse. Most should have bloomed by now.”

Ashe follows Dedue outside of the dining hall and sprints to catch up to his pace. “The greenhouse? But you’re not on greenhouse duty today, are you?”

“No,” Dedue answers. “But I like to take care of the flowers everyday.”

Ashe nods in understanding. “I see.”

The short walk to the greenhouse isn’t filled with much conversation, and when they do reach it, Ashe grows flustered at the thought that he had absentmindedly followed Dedue all the way here. Dedue notices Ashe tagging along, but doesn’t bother to question him about it. He takes a watering can in his hands and fills it up with the hose.

“Hey, Dedue…” Ashe starts, breaking the silence in between them. He fidgets with his hands. “About...about the ball.”

“What of it?” Dedue inquires. He turns the hose off and brings the watering can to the innermost garden bed. Ashe follows, naturally.

“Are you really not going?” Ashe asks quietly, his words slipping into the air just as the water hits the soil.

“Well, yes. I believe so. Why the concern?” The flowers  _ are _ blooming. Pink, yellow, purple, blue. Many more colors. Ashe counts them before he musters up a reply.

“I...I just don’t have anyone to go with, as I mentioned before. So I was thinking of...of asking if you would like to. To go. With me.”

Dedue turns to face Ashe, Ashe’s face turned to the floor in embarrassment. He’s twiddling his thumbs and looks like a small child, and Dedue turns back to water the last of the flowers.

“I suppose there is no harm in that,” Dedue states after what feels like an eternity to Ashe.

“R-Really? You don’t have to if you don’t want to! I just wanted to know if you were interested, and, well, seeing as we’re pretty close I figured—”

“Yes, Ashe. Really. I’d be happy to attend with you.”

Ashe’s face glows a bright red as a goofy smile finds his lips. His fingers aren’t fidgeting anymore, and Ashe nods at Dedue as he finishes the last of the watering can.

“G-Great! Thank you, Dedue. It...it means a lot.”

Dedue gives a curt nod. “Happy to help.”

Ignatz is painting, despite his efforts in convincing his classmates that he doesn’t. He’s figured that there was no use in it anymore, but when the professor catches him with parchment and brushes in his hands he’s always quick to remind her that it’s a simple hobby. The professor always insists that she doesn’t mind if he paints, and Ignatz is always fretting over the words he chooses all over again.

But today, Ignatz is painting outside. He’s gone to the edge of town, a mostly secluded place he comes to often to get a better view of the monastery from afar. He’s never shown this place to anyone before, nobody except—

“Um, Ignatz?”

Ignatz yelps in surprise as he spins on his heels to be greeted by none other than Marianne. She’s looking at the floor, cracking her fingers, and doesn’t look up to see what Ignatz is doing.

“M-Marianne! Sorry, you just frightened me!”

Marianne shakes her head solemnly, her lips turned into a frown. She parts them to say a few words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you would be here. I’ll leave you alone now.”

Marianne turns to leave, but before Ignatz can register what he’s doing, he’s grabbed her by the arm and pulled her aside. His hands are rather small, definitely smaller than an average boy’s, and so his grip on her wrist isn’t very strong. He’s gentle to the touch, as if he was afraid Marianne’s skin was made of porcelain.

Marianne looks over her shoulder to find Ignatz’s fingers wrapped around her wrists, and she finally forces herself to look up at him. “Um…”

Ignatz releases his grip on her, bowing in apology profusely. “S-Sorry! I didn’t mean to grab you so suddenly! I was only…”

Marianne raises an eyebrow. “Only what?”

The sky is orange, nearing the hour in which the sun sets below the horizon. Ignatz has conjured up a perfect routine in finding the best hours in which the sun shines the most brilliantly, or when its angles were at its finest for painting. His favorite time to get out to paint scenery was during this very hour, in which the world was bathed in a golden hue.

And against all the orange, he saw a glimpse of light blue and downcast, brown eyes. He saw a brooding figure with a frown so unwavering it always seemed to be permanent. But against all odds, and contrary to popular beliefs, Ignatz didn’t see a person who brought about unhappiness wherever she walked—he saw someone with a beauty he couldn’t quite explain in words.

Marianne’s face was not extravagant. It wasn’t cutesy like Hilda’s or determined like Leonie’s. It was real, and above all else, raw. Mostly with emotion that Ignatz often caught sight of, whether it be through her frowns or lack of eye contact. There was almost something goddess-like about her that Ignatz found himself to be entranced with—like somehow she wasn’t of this world.

But he knew those were silly opinions, so he never voiced them aloud. He could only ever really admire Marianne whenever she was around in small ways so that she wouldn’t notice—stealing glances across the classroom, making conversation to get himself closer to her, taking quick glimpses when they passed each other throughout the monastery.

Ignatz doesn’t catch Marianne’s question the first time, so she frowns at him. He quickly notices his mind wandering off in the middle of a conversation and quickly shakes his head to rid it of idle thoughts. He meets Marianne’s eyes apologetically.

“Sorry, Marianne. There was just...something on my mind.”

“Oh?” Marianne says, her voice soft and quiet. She was kind-hearted and gentle-souled, someone that Ignatz found himself admiring more and more because of it. He wasn’t sure where the sudden infatuation came from, but he did notice that it took root in him ever since he showed her this very spot a few weeks ago.

It was almost like they were now. The two of them, standing alone gazing at the monastery in the distance, the sun reflecting its brilliance off the buildings. It was just them, and nobody else was around to tell them it was wrong to stop in their tracks and admire their surroundings for a few moments. Them without the world. Them peering into the sky.

“If you wouldn’t mind, would you like to join me? I could use some company as I paint,” Ignatz offers, his hand outstretched. There was a brush dripping a blue pigment in his other hand.

“Join you? For what purpose?”

Ignatz retracts his hand, embarrassed. “Just...to hang around, I suppose. Someone to talk to?”

The frown on Marianne’s face deepens. “I’m not very good at talking.”

Ignatz nods, then corrects his movements by shaking his head. He waves his hands frantically to get across the idea that he understands. “Ah, yes, right. Sorry. I know. But we don’t have to talk. Just...being with someone is okay, too. But only if you wouldn’t mind. I wouldn’t want to if you did mind.”

Ignatz is rambling, showcasing his nervousness through a flurry of sentences. Marianne considers her options for a few seconds, but eventually decides to stay. Out of all the people in her class, she felt that Ignatz was the one that she was the most comfortable with sitting in silence with.

Marianne gives a curt nod, taking a few steps to stand beside Ignatz. She gazes down at the monastery rather than looks at him or his work, and Ignatz feels that he likes it better that way. A small smile finds its way to his face, and he resumes painting like nothing had disturbed him in the first place.

A thought pops up in Ignatz’s mind that’s been nagging at him for a while now. He’s been meaning to bring up the topic beforehand, but has never found the right moment for it. But now, as he’s brushing strokes against parchment with Marianne by his side, he feels a bit more at ease. He feels more comfortable. And so he gets the idea off his chest in one quick flurry before he regrets it.

“Say, Marianne...the ball is coming up soon, right? Have you decided to attend? Because I...I was just…”

The words come easily, some of them. But actually voicing the question doesn’t. Marianne turns her head ever so slightly.

“The ball? I haven’t thought much of it until now,” Marianne honestly replies. It hadn’t crossed her mind recently, not since they first announced it anyhow. She simply figured that she wouldn’t show up at all.

“I see. Well, sorry this is so sudden, but I...I was just wondering if…”

He’s resorted to mumbling, a failed attempt at his so-called comfort in asking a simple question. His mind’s gone to mush, and he stops painting. A stray droplet of blue drips down onto the grass, ruining half of his painting. Ignatz doesn’t notice.

Marianne is confused. She’s blinking a few times to try to register what Ignatz might be suggesting, but she comes up blank. But after thinking about it more, she finds herself...laughing. The sight of Ignatz all flustered and unable to get his words out strikes her as a bit amusing, as harsh as it sounds. A small giggle escapes from her lips, and she doesn’t seem to think she needs to hide it from someone like Ignatz.

“Is something the matter?” Ignatz asks, drawing his attention to Marianne. It’s rare to see her smile, much less laugh, although he’s seen the both of them only a handful of times. Even so, he enjoys the idea that something is making her happy in this moment.

“Sorry, it was just funny seeing you so flustered...ah, that’s a terrible thing for me to say. I’m sorry, Ignatz. Forget I said anything…” Marianne purses her lips. “You wanted to ask me something, I presume?”

“R-Right. Yes. The ball. About it...I...wanted to see if you would like to go with me, actually.” Something about Marianne’s outburst eases Ignatz’s nerves, ironically enough. He pushes his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose, and stands a little taller once the question hangs in the air. He doesn’t notice it, but he also holds his breath.

“Oh…” Marianne starts, unable to think of a response. Her first reaction is to apologize, then decline, but she manages to take a glimpse at Ignatz before she makes a final decision. He’s holding his breath, his chest puffed out and his torso sucked in, and it seems like he doesn’t even notice that he’s doing it. Suddenly, he wants to laugh again, but forces it away to focus on the question that’s been handed to her. She closes her eyes and nods to herself, a push to do something she’d never do before.

“I’d...I’d be happy to, I think. Yes. I’ll go with you, Ignatz.”

Ignatz’s eyes widen, and then a smile flashes across his face. He beams with excitement, dropping the brush he had been clutching onto the grass. “Really? I honestly didn’t think you’d accept! S-Sorry, it just makes me really happy that you did!”

Marianne giggles at the sight of Ignatz’s bursting excitement, the thought warm. The thought that she made someone this happy. “I didn’t think I would either. But, Ignatz...do you know how to dance?”

She asks because she has no experience in it, and Ignatz blinks twice before he gives a halfhearted response through a laugh.

“Ah, no, I don’t...but there’s always something new to learn, right? We’ll learn it together!”

Marianne gives him a small smile. “Yes. That sounds great.”

**Author's Note:**

> lol i wanted to write dimitri w someone but i don't rlly ship him w anyone besides byleth so?? welp


End file.
